


Happiness Hit Her Like a Bullet in the Back

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, F/F, but the baby is there, lyrical, not-quite-babyfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making memories for the future, memories of love-making and tenderness to be stored for a time when they are needed the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness Hit Her Like a Bullet in the Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphrodite_mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/gifts).



The first time they make love it’s like fireworks. The second time they fuck, it’s furtive.

“Does he know we’re up here?”

“No. This is where I’d always come to get away.” Margot leads her through a hidden corridor. “It was never in the plans for the house. I don’t know who built it...I found a gun in here, an old revolver. And some liquor bottles, and old coins.”

They emerge in a windowless, round room. There are blankets on the floor and pillows. “I never stay too long so he doesn’t come looking for me too hard. Kiss me.” She guides Alana’s hand to her breast.

Alana thumbs her nipple through her blouse. She bends down to kiss Margot’s neck. She pushes the fabric away. She bites; she sucks. She runs her hand underneath Margot’s clothes and caresses her hip, her side, her back, the cleft of her ass.

Margot moans softly and begins shimmying out of her own skirt. “Touch me soft. Be so quiet. Can we be quiet?”

“Right now, we can be quiet,” Alana reassures her. “I want to be loud with you. We can be as loud as we want, soon.” She lifts the edges of the blouse up and pulls it off over Margot’s head.

And then Margot’s naked, as she steps out of her stilettoes. She steps backward, drops down, lies back on a pile of blankets. There’s a sheepskin, a quilt, an afghan. A wool blanket. Some pillows. A little nest, hidden in a big house.

Margot lies down on the sheepskin, grabs a pillow, clutches it under her arm. She draws one knee up toward her chest.

Alana dives down, kissing her from her ankles all the way up to her vulva with soft, fluttering pecks and little bites. She divides Margot’s labia with the point of her tongue, licking from bottom to top. She crooks her finger, reaching inside for the soft spot behind the pubic bone; she’s gentle. She licks and strokes and coaxes bit by bit a series of ethereal whimpers from her lover.

She grins and leans her cheek against Margot’s thigh.

Margo caresses the top of Alana’s head with her hand, running her fingers through her hair.

“Will it always feel this good?” Margot asks.

The third time they are together, it is hard. Everything hurts no matter what they try. Their scars pull and nerve pain shoots like fireworks. Alana’s back spasms and she collapses on top of Margot, who cries out in pain. They roll apart and catch their breath. Then they laugh, because who can get it right every time? Alana turns on the TV in their hotel room and they hold each other and talk about the future.

Margot’s long dreamed about being free. She gets glimpses of that freedom when she rides but Mason always brings her down to heel. Alana tastes bile in her throat when Margot talks about him. Should she feel possessive this soon? What right does she have to possess? To be possessed?

There’s a movie on the tv. A man in a pinstriped suit looks in love, says to another man, “I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way, what bliss.” Alana knows that feeling.

The fourth time, Margot has night terrors afterward, after Alana leaves for the night to her guest room to maintain the facade of casualness. Alana hears the screaming. Someone from the household staff brings cognac and a wet rag for Margot’s head. Alana comes and sits with her, stroking the back of her hand, talking about nothing at all.

The fifteenth time they make love in front of a fireplace on a bear rug. Because if you live in a house with a bear rug, you have to try it sometime, right?

The forty-first time is loud, finally, so incredibly loud.

The one-hundredth time is celebratory and feather-light, gentle. Alana is pregnant. She ought to be, after going to the best fertility clinic in the world for the miserable IVF process. She is bloated and grumpy but also relieved. They save more embryos for the future, but Alana has a hard time imagining how anyone does this twice.

The intervals are longer now. Margot is mommy, Alana is baba, and they’re sleep-deprived and preoccupied, even with a nanny and a household staff. Margot has plenty of experience with Alana screaming her name and clutching her hand like she might break it, and yet it’s new once again the day they meet their son.

They had decided on an aristocratic name, one that they hoped he would grow into: Scipio Marcus Alan Bloom Verger.  A little bit of Margot, a little bit of Alana, and some other ingredients they talked about to each other sparingly. The boy has Margot’s wide eyes and they are alert to everything around him.

They have more to think about, now that they are three. They have to think about surveillance, and security. They never talk about him directly. Margot thinks bringing work home is distasteful to start with. But they have a plan for many different contingencies.

Once Mason died, they had fired all the household staff except those who were kind to Margot when they could be. Why keep around Mason’s squad of criminals and perverts? They could pick their own perverts if they wanted.

But with Scipio around, they can finally take stewardship over the family fortune, use it, remake it. Invest it in animal rights causes; break ties with everyone Mason had been bribing. Their ascendancy ripples out around them like a spire emerging from a receding tide.

The one hundred and fiftieth time, Scipio is with his nanny and Margot and Alana sneak off to the tiny round room, their hidden nest. They lie in the dim light, fingers twined, and fuck fiercely like it’s the first time all over again.

 

* * *

 

Alana knows how make Margot moan. She knows how to make her curse. She knows what angles feel good and what angles hurt, usually. She knows all the lines of Margot’s body, the creases, scars, and translucent marble curves. She is still surprised. Every day, Margot surprises her.

But it’s Margot who’s counting. She counts the days, keeps a codex in her mind hanging on to every memory. She knew what she was getting into when she fell in love with a marked woman; they both have plans within plans. But it comes down to this moment, then the next.

She doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow. She never knows if this kiss, this caress will be the last. So she always treats it like it is.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Dog Days Are Over" by Florence + the Machine. The movie quote is from The Addams Family.


End file.
